Witchcraft
by ForeverRio
Summary: Kyle hadn't intended to be interning in a hospital in rural Colorado. He hadn't intended to stumble across one of the most important discovers of the 21st century and he certainly hadn't expected that he'd have to defend himself from a psycho with a gun claiming to be a witch nearly twenty for hours later. But above all? He hadn't expected to fall in love. AU, Style.
1. Chapter 1

This is the first of the Pentagram trilogy. I've had this idea bouncing around in my head for a little over two years, and while I've written out a good portion of the other two stories, this one fought me tooth and nail. While they can all be read out of order (so far, I can't promise that won't change) this was the original start to the trilogy and I wanted to introduce it as such.

Disclaimer: ForeverRio reads copious amounts of paranormal romance. She also watches a lot of South Park. These two interests were bound to collide sometime. However, ForeverRio is not Illona Andrews, Patrica Briggs, Sherrilyn Kenyon or any of the other various influences of the paranormal romance world nor is she Matt Trey. There is no ownage.

I do love me some constructive crit, or just plain old reviews, so if you enjoy do drop in one!

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Kyle Brofloksi hadn't intended to be interning in a hospital in rural Colorado. He hadn't intended to be the only intern the hospital had. He hadn't intended to stumble across one of the most important-if not THEE most important discovers of the twenty-first century and he certainly hadn't expected that he'd have to defend himself from a psycho with a gun nearly twenty four hours later. But most of all? Kyle hadn't expected to comfort his would be killer as he lay on the floor puking.

"Breathe through it. In, out, in, out, with me now, in, out, there you go." Kyle, punctuated the instructions with simple gestures. The killer-almost killer? Possible killer? His killer? Sat haphazardly on the floor, groaning over a trashbin. Kyle had long since confiscated the gun and was seated a top one of the wheeled stools that run rampant in medical environments. "Better?" Kyle asked.

"Blaarrrgh." Said the killer. It was quickly accompanied by the slopping wet noise of vomit hitting plastic.

'_Kudos to whomever decided that plastic bags could be used in trashbins.'_ Kyle thought idly. He took the moment to study the man before him. He was using the term "man" lightly, he had estimated his killer to be in his early twenties. Very early twenties. About Kyle's age in fact. The killer had jet black hair, slicked to his slim face with sweat. A fairly athletic build, looked like he did some type of sport. Or at least was very active. Not completely jacked up though, so nothing like football. Soccer didn't seem to fit either. Lacrosse maybe? Kyle made a note to ask him, it might be important when he told the authorities later.

He was dressed in worn jeans and a black _Avengers _T-shirt. A black hat covered his head and gloves adorned his hands. Kyle figured that was so he wouldn't leave finger prints and the hat was probably to cover his face. Or it was just a happy accident. The guy_ was_ too stupid to wear a jacket in the middle of a Colorado winter.

"You doing all right down there?" Kyle asked as his killer finally stopped dry heaving long enough to lean against a metal cabinet and groan.

"No." The killer admitted. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, grimaced, and then rubbed the back of his arm against his jeans. "Why haven't you run yet?"

Good question. Why hadn't he? "Well I am holding the gun." Kyle tapped the offending object against the counter. The result was a loud metallic clang that caused his killer to wince.

"You know I don't need the gun to kill you." It would have been threatening, if he hadn't sounded like a dying whale when he said it.

It took a moment for it to sink in._ 'Oh, right, the pyrotechnics._' Kyle thought. Very flashy, dropping fireworks as a distraction was ingenious. Well, at least in a rural town in an understaffed hospital that had too many overworked doctors to care about a few bangs in the basement it was. If they even heard the noises.

Kyle supposed the killer still had some fireworks on him. Undoubtedly a control panel too. Or was it just a smartphone? Was there an app for setting off miniature explosives? Probably. "Of course you don't." He soothed, using the same tone one would use on a child who lost a race.

"You still don't believe me." The killer said, eyes widening. "Dude, I flipped two tables that were_ bolted down!"_

"Of which there's a logical explanation for I'm sure." Kyle said curtly. Here they went again. What had been a simple distraction technique for Kyle: keep the guy with the gun talking and therefore, distracted, had revealed some…interesting, information. And turned into an argument.

The most thrilling argument of Kyle's life. And perhaps, a small part of why he hadn't gotten the hell out of dodge the second his killer started throwing up instead of shooting him.

"For fuck's sake you found a zombie. A real, live _zombie_, and you're having problems believing in witchcraft? What more do you want?" The killer whined. Of course if you were to ask him he would have said it was merely a high pitched tone of disbelief.

Kyle didn't bat an eye. "Proof." He said simply. "And what I found was a medically dead body with brain activity and the surprising ability to move. Zombie is stretching it a bit."

"His flesh is coming off in chunks." The killer deadpanned.

Kyle's eyes flickered over to a partly covered John Doe. The body was strapped to a gurney and looked very, very much dead. Until you noticed the odd spasms of movements here and there.

A living dead guy.

A physically decomposing body with a living brain.

The find of the twenty-first century.

And, undoubtedly, why his killer was here.

"It's amazing isn't it?" Kyle said, lost in the possibilities. The sheer knowledge that could be gained. The advances…

"Yeah, until it starts knawing your face off."

"That's impossible." Kyle muttered, still off in the potential future.

The killer stared at him before turning his head and softly thumping it against the cabinet. "What's impossible." Smack. "Is that you." Smack. "Have proof." Smack. "Right." Smack. "There." Smack. "And you still won't believe it." Smack, smack, smack.

"Stop that." Kyle said absently.

He did, amazingly enough. "What's it going to take." He said suddenly, sitting up. Kyle jerked a bit, startled. He turned back to find his killer staring intently at him, blue eyes trapping Kyle's own.

'_Are his eyes electric blue?'_ Kyle found himself wondering. _'Those have to be contacts real eyes simply do not come in that color.'_

His killer took a few deep breaths. "Watch. He ordered. He lifted a hand, forehead wrinkling as he concentrated. Kyle, no longer distracted, fought the urge to smirk at the action. He leaned back instead, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Biting his lower lip, Kyle's would be killer closed his eyes.

Kyle waited.

Nothing happened.

He was losing the battle to contain the smirk.

A loud scrapping noise sounded to Kyle's left, he twisted his head in time to see the gun slide off the table and spin into his killer's hands. The killer opened his eyes, giving Kyle his own smirk.

"Happy?" He said. His eyes flicked down to the gun. He frowned. "Shit! You didn't even put the safety on!"

Kyle stared at the hand holding the gun. "What, afraid you could have shot me? Odd time for your conscious to show up."

The killer opened his mouth, shut it, then blushed. "Whatever." He growled.

They were both quite for a moment.

"You attached a fishing wire to it." Kyle concluded.

"You're not serious." Said his killer.

"Then put the gun back and do it again."

"Fine, I will!"

Twenty minutes later, his killer was covered in sweat, shaking slightly, and cursing Kyle out. "No, I will not do it again! I have a limited amount of power, and you've pretty much depleted me. You've seen me retrieve it from eight different places, including from your HAND. You're just being stubborn!"

"Because I haven't figured out the trick yet!" Kyle shot back.

His killer threw his hands in the air. "For the last time, there isn't a trick!" He was nearly yelling, but seeing as it was nearing four in the morning and rarely anyone ever came in at night, Kyle let him. "I am a witch. There is a ZOMBIE strapped to your table. We need to KILL it or else the zombie apocalypse is going to start and then you need to forget everything you saw since it showed up!"

It was Kyle's turn to throw his hands in the air. "I am not just going to forget a scientific breakthrough this big! Do you know what we could do just studying him! Do you know the possible diseases we could cure!"

His killer slammed his hands down on the table. "And that is why they're going to kill you!"

"Why you're going to kill me." Snarled Kyle.

They glared at each other for a moment. His killer was the one to break eye contact. He grabbed one of the wheeled stools and sat down with a huff.

"Why couldn't you have run?" He said quietly.

Kyle sighed. He pulled up his own stool, sitting across from his killer. "Because you wanted the John Doe. I had to protect him. The science, the possibilities he presents was worth risking my life for." He responded. He hesitated, then added: "I did want to keep talking to you. It's not every day you run into a killer whose been brainwashed by a cult into thinking he's a witch. A cult that's coming after this body. Ten to one says you know something about it. Either the guy was a member of your cult, or you guys had a hand in helping him get into his current condition and either way, that's another step ahead for the scientific and medical community. You can offer insight." Kyle abruptly laughed when he noticed his killer's face. He was wide eyed in disbelief. "I have a pretty high IQ. I notice shit."

His killer shook his head. "Apparently. That's uh, that's pretty dead on. Not the brainwashing, or the abilities, that's all real. But the rest of it. Yeah, we knew the guy and yeah, we know why he's a zombie. Hell, it was one of ours that turned him." His killer looked at the John Doe. He was twitching a bit more now, Kyle noticed with fascination. "It's not a power I wish anyone had."

They both eyed the gurney the John Doe was strapped on, each lost in thought.

His killer suddenly jerked back to face Kyle. "Wait. I am not a killer!"

Kyle looked at him. "Sure you are. You were attempting to kill me not," he checked his watch, "four hours ago."

"That doesn't make me a killer. If anything that proves I'm not. I threw up when I pinned you, dude." He said.

Kyle shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You came after me with the full intent to end my life. I don't know you. I don't know if you're lying. I do know your cult can get you to do almost anything, and that makes you a killer in my book. My killer, who is going to help me discover what caused this man's condition and then help me reveal it to the world."

His killer twitched. "I am not "your killer." You are NOT dead. I have never successfully killed anything in my life. My coven can't force me-" His killer abruptly stopped. Mouth closing with a click, he changed the subject. "At least call me by my name."

Kyle let it go. He had played with fire a lot today, he figured he could ease back a bit on his killer and his obvious cult membership. "Yes, because I'm magically supposed to remember your name, Mr. Wizard."

"Witch." His killer corrected automatically. "And fine. My name's Stan."

Kyle stuck out his hand. "My name is Kyle."

Stan hesitated, but placed his hand in Kyle's and shook it. "I know. I can read your name tag."

They shook for a minute, awkwardly pulled their hands away, and returned to staring at the John Doe. Or Zombie, depending on which one you asked.

"You know if I don't kill you, they'll send someone else." Stan said.

Kyle didn't even blink. "Are you then?" He asked.

"Going to kill you? No." Stan looked away. "Like I said, I'm not a killer."

"Historically most cults don't take failure well." Kyle ventured out. Stan nodded.

"No." He said, softly. "They won't understand why I couldn't do it. But I could kill the zombie, bring back the head and lie about what happened to you."

Kyle's eyes hardened. A vicious look overtook his face, the same one he had been wearing when Stan had first broken in. "You're not going to get close enough to my John Doe to do a damned thing."

Stan huffed. "You really don't understand the threat here, do you? Didn't you see _28 Days Later?_ Or _The Crazies? Night of the Living Dead?" _

"Nope." Kyle said. He looked at his watch again. As exciting as this was, he wasn't making any headway with the John Doe and he didn't know how long he had with his current condition. The only thing stopping him from getting to work was that Stan really could tell him something important-and of course that Stan had already stated he was planning on killing the John Doe no matter what. He was back to the method of distraction until he could figure out a way to alert the proper authorities. He didn't have his cell phone on him while he worked, just his pager, so the task required more thought than simply running for the nearest phone.

"Dude you need to get out more."

"Says the brainwashed cult member." Kyle replied. He softened it by adding: "I am a twenty-one year old medical intern. I didn't get to where I am by watching a lot of TV."

"Sounds like you need a vacation. And you know what? This is the perfect time to take one!" The fake enthusiasm went right over Kyle's head. The wheels in his head were turning, creating a desperate plot.

"Interns don't get vacations. At least this one doesn't." Kyle stood, walking over to one of the cabinets and making sure to keep Stan in his eyesight. It might take more than a few seconds to fully kill the John Doe, but he wasn't going to chance it.

He knew each of these cabinets like the back of his hand. This one, a supply cabinet would have everything he needed, if he could just figured out a way to distract Stan.

The mentioned was pinching his nose. "I can't leave without the zombie Kyle."

Kyle pulled out everything he needed, making sure his body shielded most of what he pulled out. He bit his lip as he fumbled, nearly dropping a glass bottle. Knowing he was risking it all, he completely turned around, focusing on what he was doing. "Go pull the sheet off the John Doe. Does that look like a biting ravaging zombie to you? Because it looks like a medical miracle to me."

The chair clicked as it whirled back. Kyle watched Stan stand up and walk over to the John Doe out of the corner of his eye. The second he knew Stan wasn't paying attention he set up the syringe he'd pulled out.

Stan stared at the decomposing body at the table. The man twitched, head gently rolling back and forth.

"I get it. He looks harmless now." Stan said. "But he isn't. If you tell anyone else about him, if you get national attention over him- they won't be looking for cures. The only thing they'll reverse engineer from him is a boatload of new diseases, new bio chemical weapons. We just can't risk it." He sighed as he heard Kyle come up behind him. "I'm sorry." He started to turn when pain exploded in his knee. Stan's leg buckled, knocking him off balance enough for Kyle to guide his fall. One arm wrapped across his chest and neck, holding him in place.

"Fuck, dude!" Stan yelled as Kyle swiftly jabbed a needle in his neck. He tried to struggle, but Kyle had a vice grip on his neck and he found all he could do was flail wildly. Except he wasn't exactly flailing. In fact his arms were falling limply to his sides.

He yelled "Fuck!" again, except it came out more like; "Fuucchkedge!"

The last thing he saw was Kyle standing up over him, his mouth moving. He fought for consciousness but weirdly, he couldn't hear anything.

"Sonovabitch." Was the last thing he thought before unconsciousness unclaimed him.

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There's not a lot of things that can take affect that fast, but hey, that's why I got my creative license. It's nifty to pull out in cases such as these.


	2. Chapter 2

A big giant Thank You! to all who reviwed! I wasn't able to respond this time 'round, and I'm sorry for that, but I'll do my best to respond to anyone who reviews this chapter. Reviews, even ones without the coveted constructive criticism, are extremely appreciated and always help to motivate me.

And with that, and the disclaimer I am writing right this very second that says I own nuthin', let the second chapter begin!

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"I'm so sorry."

Kyle walked slowly, keeping himself calm as he approached Stan's back. He had to do this perfectly. There wasn't room for error. He could very well get charged for murder if he screwed up.

Of course things couldn't go smoothly. Stan started to turn and Kyle panicked. A swift kick to the back of his knee knocked him down and Kyle lunged forward. He caught him, balancing Stan's weight against his torso. He got in him a headlock with one hand, locating the vein and slamming the needle home with the other. He injected all of the anaesthetic quickly, removing the needle right before Stan became a deadweight and slumped to the floor.

Kyle let him go and stood up, breathing a sigh of relief as the anaesthetic took effect.

It had been a good thing Kyle had managed to knock Stan out when he had. He'd been inching toward the realization that Kyle knew he couldn't give the John Doe to anyone else: he'd be taken away. A million government labs would do all sorts of underhanded things to get the medical miracle that was twitching on his gurney. Hell, all of the doctors employed by Hell's Pass hospital would fight to get their hands on him. And would a single one fight for the same things he would? Or would they sell out to someone else? Someone with ulterior motives?

People did a lot of stupid things for money. Companies, particularly drug companies, or the government, or someone elses government or any money endowed yahoo could do a number of things to destroy everything. Kyle fought for the people. He fought to bring things, cures, whatever his John Doe could present, to the people. He couldn't guarantee anyone else would. He couldn't trust anyone with his secret. Backstabbing and betrayals were a common thing in the world. More common than anyone cared to admit.

The secret had to stay with him-and only him-until he could get the word out to the public about his findings.

But he had to FIND those findings first. Too many people could step in and tell him he was a hack and a joke at this stage. That his zombie was a fake. That there was a logical explanation for it.

No.

He couldn't risk it.

Adrenaline easing out of him, Kyle ran his hand through his hair. He located an empty gurney, wheeled it over and lowered it to the floor. It took a moment, Stan was surprisingly heavy, but Kyle was able to get him onto the gurney and then raise it again to a normal height. He checked his time. With the amount he'd administered he should have a solid three hours before Stan began to wake up. Plenty of time.

Kyle quickly covered the John Doe. He rolled him into the corner he'd been keeping him in, away from all the doors. The basement room Kyle had been working out of was one of the many he was supposed to be organizing when he had down time. It was rare for anyone else to come down here since the hospital had been downsized four years ago.

It was one of the few times Kyle ever felt like thanking the economy.

He turned to eye Stan. It was late now, almost half the staff left at night, but Kyle couldn't exactly risk someone seeing him wheeling a body out to his car.

It was a damn good thing he'd had plans for removing the John Doe on the off chance some government lackey did get wind of his project.

As Kyle found, some thirty minutes later, he hadn't even needed it. He didn't encounter a soul on the way up and the security guards were safely in their posts, not making rounds.

With Stan safely secured in the back of his car, he took off for home, trying to determine how Stan's cult would react to him not coming back; and what Kyle should prepare for.

xXx

Kidnapping, Kyle had concluded, was a complicated business.

There was a significant amount of problems that it presented. For starters, from this point on Kyle was going to be seen as the bad guy. His reasoning wouldn't make sense to anyone else, if they even bothered to wait until Kyle was finished going through all of it. They would demand to know why Kyle hadn't taken Stan to the police. Called the police. Gotten some kind of law enforcement involved like a normal human being would. And no matter how he phrased it, the response was going to center around a not-exactly-dead-dead guy that Kyle was experimenting on. Medical miracle or not, government lackies jacking his find and potentially the future cures for mankind or not, he was going to come off as some kind of demented dude in a lab coat.

At the very least, he would be seen as someone who was breaking a significant amount of laws. Kyle paced around his apartment, having managed to sneak Stan up by pretending he was just a drunk friend he was helping. He didn't think anyone had seen them, but Kyle was determined to play it safe. If anyone came by later asking about it, his story would be that an old college buddy had visited, challenged a local to a drinking match and lost so horrifically he'd left in defeat in the morning. The electrical tape he placed over Stan's mouth would ensure Stan couldn't call for help, and Kyle had taken a page out of a few old crime novels and handcuffed him to the back of the toilet.

His bathroom sat opposite his bedroom in his apartment. It wasn't a large one, a small hallway lead to a tiny living room kitchen combo. The apartment itself was in the back corner of the whole complex, giving some privacy but not a whole lot. Stan couldn't make too much noise or he'd alert the neighbors.

What to do, what to do. Kyle paced frantically up and down the hallway, running the events over in his mind. He needed more time. He'd only had a few days with his discovery and he'd already learned so much. He just couldn't let the John Doe go. Hell's Pass was a small hospital, poorly staffed after a larger hospital had opened in Colorado, that had taken a further hit when the economy made things tight. It catered to the more rural areas, and was running with the least amount of staff possible. Kyle felt safe continuing his examination in the hospital. There was little fear of discovery.

That wasn't the problem now. It was Stan. His cult would come looking for him now. He'd flat out said if he didn't return they'd send someone else to make sure his job was accomplished. That meant his John Doe wasn't safe. Damn it all! Kyle spun suddenly, kicking the wall in rage_. 'Dammit, dammit, dammit!'_

"Handcuff's? Really?" Stan's voice was groggy and weak, but Kyle jumped anyway. He backed up a few steps, peaking into the bathroom and noting that the electrical tape had vanished from Stan's face with wide eyes. Stan was crammed against the toilet and the bathtub, legs splayed out and looking mildly uncomfortable. "Why the hell do you have handcuff's?"

Kyle answered on reflex. "They're not mine, they're an ex's. I wrapped four separate pieces of tape over your mouth."

Stan attempted to shrug, but his position didn't allow it. He tipped his head back to eye Kyle instead. "Sure they are. She into the tape too? Possibly guns? Other things that make kidnapping conveniently easier?"

Kyle bristled. "No he wasn't. It was just the handcuff's." He snapped. "How the hell did you get the tape off?"

Stan shook his head a few times, clearly trying to shake the last of the drug's effects off him. Kyle's fists clenched and he felt a surge of rage when Stan didn't answer right away. He took a step forward and caught himself. _'Stress.' _He thought, forcing himself to take a breath. _'It's just the stress. Don't let it get to you. You need a clear head.'_

"I told you." Stan said finally. "Magic."

"Right. Which is why you're still handcuffed to the toilet. Magic my fucking ass." Kyle's response was quick, and laced with a lot of repressed anger. Stan wiggled a bit, straining for a moment before giving in and relaxing as best as he could.

"Didn't have enough energy to get out of the handcuff's. Didn't think I'd be able to make it out the door even if I did. What the hell did you do?" Stan groaned, trying one more time to move. "I feel like I got run over by a truck."

"Yeah?" Kyle said, feeling the need to pace but catching himself before he did. "Well there's more of it. I'll keep you here drugged up and unconscious if I have to."

A smirk graced Stan's face. He tried to hide it, but Kyle was too wound up too let anything slip by. "What!?" He growled.

Stan looked at the floor and shook his head. "No you won't."

"What was that!?"

Stan looked up. "No you won't." He repeated, a little louder. The smirk grew on his face a bit. He titled his head, catching Kyle's eyes with his own. "You won't keep drugging me. You're not the type."

Kyle felt chills race down his spine. Sweat beaded his fore-head; he resisted the urge to wipe it away. Still attempting to be threatening he ground out: "Oh? And just what makes you think I don't have the drugs ready on the counter right now?"

'_Yeah self, what makes you think he doesn't have the drugs on the counter right now?'_ Stan thought to himself. He didn't feel the emotion behind the smirk on his face. He wasn't a fighter, not truly. He didn't enjoy it. He hated confrontations. Bantering? Yes. Verbally bitchslapping? No. But he'd developed the skills. He had to. His family was harsh. The coven was harsh. And they expected Stan to be harsh.

But the smirk wouldn't help him here. He took a deep breath, trying to get the smirk off his face. Trying to break out of the habit of turning into an asshole when corned. He paused for a moment to study Kyle. "Like speaks to like. And you're too much like me."

"I'm nothing like you." Snapped Kyle.

"You're like me in that you could never purposely hurt someone. I fired a gun at you. I purposely missed. You could have killed me with a various number of drugs instead of whatever that was. You didn't. " Stan fired back. "You didn't run to the police when I started to vomit everywhere. You took the gun away, but you didn't turn me in. You talk a good story, but when it comes down to it you are not a killer. You're not a kidnapper. You're a guy who is just trying to help people and fell into a mess you can't handle."

"I couldn't go to the police then and I can't go to them now. I won't risk the John Doe-not that'd you'd know because _you don't know me_." Kyle spat. "You don't know what I can handle!"

"You damn well could've called the police! You could have hidden the body, denied everything and gotten me arrested, but you didn't! You. Didn't. That is how you're like me." Said Stan, tossing the attempt to remain calm right out the window.

They stared at each other. Kyle's chest heaving, body tense. Stan sitting on the floor, somehow looking graceful despite being wedged in a tight position. They stared at each other for a moment, too worked up to let it go.

Kyle broke eye contact first. He looked away, running his hands through his hair. His back hit his bedroom door, and he slide down until he had dropped into a sitting position. His head tipped back, resulting in a light "thud!" as it banged against the doorframe.

"Dammit." He said quietly.

They sat, just staring at each other. Kyle cursing his luck, trying desperately not to let the situation get to him but hopeless against thinking about anything else: Stan doing the exact same while avoiding any thought about the immediate future.

"Him huh?" Stan finally said when the knowledge that he'd majorly fucked up became too much for him to ignore.

"Excuse me?" Kyle said, not quite out of his own head.

"Your ex. A guy huh?"

Kyle hit Stan with the best deadpan stare he'd ever had the pleasure of viewing. This was saying quite a bit, Stan had grown up in a household with two bitchy women who sacrificed cute fuzzy animals in their spare time. "Magic bullshit or no, you start in with the homophobic crap and I'm putting the tape back over your mouth."

"Easy, I'm just making conversation." Stan said. He used the voice he'd developed particularly for defense against "that special time of the month" craziness his mother and sister both wielded. It worked spectacularly on Kyle. "This must be an interesting town to be gay in." He continued. He didn't know where he was going with it and he didn't particularly care. He just wanted something to distract him.

Kyle, needing the exact same thing, welcomed it. "I broke up with my boyfriend two weeks after I moved here. I haven't dated anyone since, no one here really knows."

"Are you hiding it?"Stan asked. He hadn't known Kyle for that long, but his first impression was that Kyle wasn't someone to closet anything.

Except bodies.

Kyle shook his head. "No." He said it softly, then repeated it a bit louder. "No. Like I said earlier, I just don't have the time anymore to go out. Watch TV. Relax. I'm too young of an intern to do any of that. No one would take me seriously."

"Yeah I know that feeling." Stan said.

Perfect opportunity. Kyle zeroed in on it in less than a second. "They expect a lot out of you? The cult?"

"It isn't a cult, it's a coven." Stan was quick to correct. "And yes." He opened his mouth to continue but thought about it.

He'd been raised to never spill secrets to outsiders. Anyone could think he was a wackjob. Anyone could potentially bring the police and news-crews down onto the coven. Exposing it. But the real threat? Anyone could be a spy for another coven. Witches were highly secretive by nature. They tended to be territorial, and while there were universal spells more complicate ones tended to be passed down through family members and varied by coven.

Never talk about it. Never talk to outsiders. Never unveil your secrets.

Never disobey the coven.

Bu he'd already done that hadn't he? Stan wasn't handcuffed to a toilet because he'd followed orders.

He winced. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to. It was that he couldn't. He couldn't kill. He couldn't use the spells his family could. He didn't have the same power. But they wouldn't understand.

Because they didn't know.

He wasn't like them.

And if Stan wished to stay alive, he could never tell them.

Kyle was staring at him intently. He knew Stan was about to talk. He was undoubtedly going to pry. Kyle wasn't the type to drop a topic unless he really wanted to. Stan knew, because he was the same way.

"_You're making an awful lot of generalizations about this guy._' He thought to himself_. 'He was right. I don't know him. I don't know what he'll do. And I need to stop pretending I do.'_ Because he was an outsider. He couldn't be trusted.

Especially not with secret Stan carried. He'd been quite for too long though. Kyle was saying something, prompting him to keep talking.

He just gave another small smile. "They expect a lot out of me. But it's different from your expectations. Mine follow me home."

"Oh yeah? What do mine do, poof out of existence when I leave the hospital?" Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Because currently my number one problem is chained to my toilet. That's gonna make it real awkward when I have to pee, dude."

Maybe it was the perfect one he said it in, or maybe it was the absurd situation itself, but despite all the tensions and weirdness, Stan found himself laughing.

It had been a long time since he'd been able to laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys! Sorry this week's update was late! As I told some of you I encountered a slight problem when I went on vacation (didn't have the wifi password xD) But here it is!

Disclaimer is hearby disclaimed here!

Bleh: Thank you for your input and review! I do ave a bit of a description problem and this was a nice reminder about it!

Annnnd on with the read!

* * *

"So…do you want dinner?"

Stan didn't know if Kyle's offer was due to them sitting on the floor bullshitting with each other and desperately pretending they weren't in the situation they were, or a joke. "You're offering me dinner? You're not so good at this kidnapping thing are you?"

Kyle became flustered. "I-ah, well I am keeping you here hostage. I mean this is the least I can do, I guess."

Stan shook his head. "If I knew all I had to do to get a free meal was to botch a murder attempt…"

Kyle laughed with him. Stan decided he liked Kyle's laugh. It was melodic, unlike some of the laughs his friends had. His sister's sounded so much like a Disney villain's it was almost comedic.

"You're gonna have to unchain me from the toilet to eat you know." He added.

Kyle shrugged. "Depends on what we eat. I don't HAVE to untie you, Mr. I Can Untie Myself."

Stan took the jab as a joke. Might as well keep things light if he was going to be here for a while. "Oh yeah? What, were you planning on? Going to give me a bowl of chips and have me eat with my feet?"

Kyle blushed again. His blush was also quite nice, Stan observed. It highlighted his freckles. Made him look more human and less…translucently pale. _'Hospital interns. The new vampire.'_ He though, amused.

"You can just conjure up something. Maybe sing a song, have a bunch of dancing utensils feed you. Isn't that how it works?" Kyle said.

Oh, touché, touché! Stan grinned at him. Kyle gave as good as he got, banter or argument.

That made things fun.

"Look I'll promise not to run if you untie me, alright? I'm getting a kink in my neck."

"Serial Killer's honor?" Kyle rose anyway. Stan rolled his eyes, muttering something about not being a killer, but leaned forward anyway.

Kyle released the handcuff's from the toilet. Neither one really thought this through though, as Kyle was hesitant to get the handcuff's off completely. The result was two minutes of an extremely awkward shuffle before Stan and Kyle could get out of the bathroom.

Stan found himself handcuffed awkwardly to the chair as Kyle dug through the cabinets. His eyes roamed the small apartment as Kyle bustled around him. Small TV, small kitchen, small clock…

Stan jerked up, staring at the clock.

"Alright we have mac n' cheese…oh actually no we don't shit. We have, nope all out of that to. Well we have a crap ton of _Reeses Cups_ that shit is the father all of all combination candies," Kyle said, dumping things into the garbage as he went.

Stan wasn't listening. "Is that clock correct?"

"What?"

"The time on the clock!" Stan twisted as best he could to face Kyle. "It's almost been a full day!"

Kyle, failing to understand the fuss was about, shrugged. "So?" The only issue he could see was that he was going to have to leave for work soon. He still hadn't made a solid plan about what to do with the John Doe. Or Stan. It's what had been keeping him up.

"Dammit Kyle they'll have tracked me by now! They could be on their way-no, no they ARE on their way. I haven't reported in, they'll assume I'm dead. They're going to finish what they started." Stan stared at Kyle.

Kyle stared back.

"They're going to kill you." Stan reminded, voice strained. "And get rid of the-

"The John Doe!" Kyle screeched, interrupting him.

Stan shouldn't have been as surprised as he was that Kyle's first thought after being informed more people were on the way to murder him was to protect the zombie, but surprise managed to show up anyway.

"We could get shot right now, and you're freaking out about the DEAD guy?!" He protested.

Kyle rushed back and worth, muttering a slew of things under his breath. "Keys, need keys, need keys, the John Doe is more important than our LIVES Stan! Keys, keys, keys, hospital!" He whirled, holding up the keys victoriously. "We have to go to the hospital!"

Stan groaned. "No that's where they're going to be! If they haven't done a tracking spell and are running straight over here first! Hell they're probably doing both! Dude abandon the body. Abandon everything, we have to get out of here!" He struggled for a moment before bellowing; "And for fucks sake untie me!"

"No!" Kyle yelled hysterically. Whether he was refusing to untie him or refusing to abandon the zombie, Stan didn't know. He did know he was about to club Kyle over his head if he didn't cooperate.

He needed to get Kyle out of here. Out of the city. Fuck, out of the state! His coven would be able to track the both of them unless Stan acted quickly. He didn't have enough magic now to perform the spells needed to cover their tracks. He wouldn't for a while, and that left their best bet to running.

It wouldn't matter if the zombie was killed if they discovered Stan had acted against a direct order they'd be hunted down. Failure was always a possibility. But Stan had petty much willingly given up and it would be viewed as an act of treason. Worse, if they were to dig (and they would, through various methods) into the matter, they'd discover what Stan was. Why he'd failed.

Their reaction would be much, much worse if they found out.

Stan yelled at Kyle again, struggling to get free from the handcuff's. Kyle ignored him, or was simply in too much of a panic to give two shits about anything other than the zombie. It was a huge risk and Stan knew it, but he had to break free.

He forced himself to relax, took a few calming breaths and called up on his power reserves. There was more there than he had anticipated. Much more. Magic rarely regenerated fast, not without an aid or boost. It was puzzling, and if wasn't magic Stan would have questioned it more. Magic was an odd energy source. There were times it did what it wanted and he wasn't going to question the gift of more of it. He gathered it into a ball within him, visualizing it, sending it down through his arms and to the metal chain.

"_Break."_ He commanded, the word giving the power a name and a job. The handcuffs snapped in half. Stan flung them off, surging to his feet.

He surveyed Kyle's kitchen, grabbing items he thought they'd need, before dumping Kyle's backpack out and shoving everything else in.

"Hey I needed that!" Kyle protested, momentarily stopping mid-panic attack.

Stan didn't bother to answer, just slung the backpack over his shoulder with one hand and grabbed Kyle with the other.

His arms were surprisingly thin. Stan found it hardly a problem to drag him out the door. Of course part of that was pure shock, as once he managed to get outside Kyle started putting up a fight.

"I will knock you out." Stan threatened. Kyle jerked in his grip, yelling loud enough to draw the entire neighborhoods attention. He managed to wrangle Kyle's keys out of his hand and pop open the trunk. Without bothering to look he chucked the backpack in. "I'll throw you in next if you don't shut up!" He hissed.

"Fuck you!" Kyle bellowed. Stan saw movement in the corner of his eye; people where starting to look out their windows. This was the absolute last thing he needed.

"Kyle?" An authoritative voice rang out. Stan cursed under his breath as a stocky women stepped out of the apartment next to Kyle's. "Is everything all right?"

Kyle opened his mouth to answer. Stan yanked him off balance and into his chest. "Look at her." He whispered harshly. "If we don't leave, they'll turn this entire area into ground zero. These are trained killers, Kyle, and they won't hesitate like I did. They'll kill everyone here. Look. At. Her."

Kyle did as Stan said, eyeing the women who was starting to come toward them.

"If you stay you'll be responsible for her death. Can you live with that?" Stan asked.

Kyle, chest heaving, didn't take his eyes off his neighbor.

"Kyle?" She called one more time. She sounded like a cop, Stan thought. He didn't know what he was going to do if Kyle yelled for help.

Kyle gave her a tight smile. "It's fine Ms. Callows." He called out. "Just a lover's quarrel. We'll leave so we don't disturb anyone else." Kyle twisted his arm in Stan's grip so that they were holding hands. "Were sorry."

Ms. Callows paused on the steps. She stared at the both of them for a moment, frowning. "Are you sure you're alright?" She asked, clearly not believing a word she was hearing. Stan didn't give her any more time to question them though. He tugged on Kyle, plastering his own tight smile on his face.

"Yes I'm sure. We're very sorry." Kyle said again. He allowed Stan to open the car door for him, only to duck around once out of Stan's grip. "Get in sweetie." He added, trotting over to the drivers side. Caught, Stan forced himself to breathe as he got in the car.

The second they were on the road Stan was on him. "We are not going to the hospital!" He said.

Kyle didn't take his eyes off the road. "If I recall the driver gets to decide where the car's going." He said, significantly more calm than he had been. "And this car is going to the hospital. You can either cowboy up or get out."

Stan crossed his arms. "Fine." He snarled, admitting defeat. "But you better retrieve that John Doe fast, _sweetie_." The last word was spat out.

They were quite for most the ride there. "You have to admit that was brilliant though." Kyle said, needing to say something. The panic was getting to him. And if it was one thing he could take away from his time interning at a hospital, it was that panicking did more harm than good. "The lover's quarrel excuse."

Stan snorted. "It was a good thing you came up with it then, seeing as you were the one making the scene."

"Doesn't make it any less brilliant." Kyle said.

Stan didn't answer. It was enough though, the drive to the hospital wasn't that long. It was all the distraction Kyle had needed. Kyle's calm was short lived however, when they finally spotted the hospital.

Or what was left of it.

"Oh my God." Kyle said.

Stan echoed his sentiment, watching the inferno the hospital was engulfed in. The entire place was a flame, panicked staff and patients rushing about in vein attempts to get everyone out. Red and blue lights blended in with the harsh light, as rescue personal rushed in. The scene only grew worse the closer they got.

Kyle parked immediately but he didn't turn the car off. Neither he or Stan got out.

It was a good thing because Stan wouldn't have been able to walk.

He knew who had done this.

The fire. The sheer scale of the assault. The message burning a building dedicated to saving lives gave. The lack of empathy, of respect. The carelessness. It was all a dead giveaway. At least it was a dead give away to Stan, who had lived with her his whole life.

His sister.

They had sent his sister in to finish what he couldn't.

"The John Doe…all my work…" Kyle was breathing funny. His grip on the steering wheel was so tight his knuckles were white, and his face matched the color perfectly. "Ruined." He moaned. "It's all ruined. Nothing. We have _nothing!"_

"No, we have something." Stan felt the adrenaline resurge within him, growing with the knowledge that his sister was nearby. If she saw him, alive and with Kyle, the results would be apocalyptic. "We have our lives. But we won't have them for long if you don't drive."

Kyle stared blankly on him.

"Drive dammit!" Stan commanded. Kyle jerked, but obeyed. They tore out of the parking lot and onto the street until Stan had to yell for Kyle to slow down.

"Act normal until the freeway."

Kyle grit his teeth. "I know."

"Then why aren't you doing it?" Stan snapped back.

The car ride was silent for a long while after that.

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Do remember that I absolutely absolutely love me some reviews! : D


	4. Chapter 4

'Ello, 'ello, 'ello and my sincerest apologies for how late this chapter is! I wrote a chapter and decided it should be chapter five rather than chapter four, so this chapter of course, gave me hell. On the bright side I do indeed have chapter five finished, and it will be up in a few days, I just have to make sure it matches what goes on in this chapter. I also told a few of you I tend to update every week, week and a half and I'm going to expand that to two weeks, as I'm looking for a job on top of Uni shit. I'm also sorry if I did not respond to your review, I lost track of who I reviewed and who I did not.

Alright and for those of you who skipped all of that, this chapter is sort, the one I'm posting in a few days is long. It works itself out.

I don't own shit.

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"Stan." Kyle's voice was tense, warning.

"I see it." Stan replied.

"It" was a black hearse that had come charging down the freeway. Dodging around the few other cars that made up traffic, barreling toward them at breakneck speeds. Stan knew this was going to happen. He knew they wouldn't be able to make a clean break, not with his sister involved. Shelly had an insanity streak a mile wide, more so than the rest of their coven. Where saner witches would have left killing Kyle for later, Shelly took it as a personal challenge. And she would do it with as much flair as possible.

The car swerved dangerously around a semi. The horn blasted as the driver slammed on his breaks. Shelly might have been insane, but even this was to out in the open for her. A hospital fire could be covered. A million excuses could be used, and with magic, they would all be believed. Stupider things had been placed on the news. But a car chase? In broad daylight!? Had she lost her mind?

'_Did she ever have it?_' Whispered the voice in Stan's head. "What's the next exit?" He asked Kyle.

Kyle was quite for long enough that Stan had started to repeat himself when Kyle shushed him. "I'm waiting for a sign, you idiot." He snapped. A second later he added; "Midtown. The next exist is Midtown."

"Take it." Stan ordered. "Wait to change lanes until the absolute last minute possible." For once, Kyle didn't snarl something back. The lack of insults only made the situation that much more real.

Stan took a breath and unbuckled himself. The hearse was almost on them. Thankfully, a row of cars was blocking Shelly from advancing, but that wouldn't last. Stan reached into his reserves again-and was surprised to see his magic had completely recovered. In fact he had more than what he usually had. Stan didn't question it, he just dipped into it.

He thought quickly, trying to come up with a spell that wouldn't use all of his power but would still be effective.

"How many are? Can you tell?" Kyle asked him.

He was ignored.

"_Need a spell, think of a spell!'_ Stan thought frantically. The smart thing to do would be to protect the car. He needed something that wasn't as strong as a shield, but was more flexible than a barrier. Something like, something like- Stan's eyes widened. He reached deep inside himself, closing his eyes and chanting.

He cupped his hands, flung them forward and yelled; "Guard!" The magic sprang from his hands, crackling as it took shape. Sparks of white danced around the car.

Laughter burst out of the radio. "Nice try, _Stan."_ Shelly hissed. "But it won't work."

The ground shook. Kyle cursed and swerved as a road sign slammed into the road.

"Screw Midtown, take the next exit!" Stan yelled as another sign uprooted itself and shot past the car.

"The next exit _is_ Midtown!" Kyle yelled back, darting through four lanes of traffic.

"I always knew you'd fuck us over." Shelly continued suddenly calm. Stan starting preparing for the worst. His sister was never calm. "But no one ever believed me. They never believed little Stanny wasn't one of us. They have to believe now don't they?" The laughter kicked up again, causing the radio to crackle. Kyle attempted to turn the radio off, to no avail.

The car shot down an off ramp. Kyle blew through a red light, the hearse following shortly.

"But they won't just believe me. They'll thank me- for killing a _**traitor!"**_ The last word was said in a roar, and with it came a blast of power. The car lifted up onto its front wheels, the back window shattering. Kyle yelled as glass flew past them. Stan returned fire with his own blast of power.

The hearses windshield cracked.

Stan bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He'd have enough power for one big spell before he was spent-but Shelly would have enough for several. Not to mention whoever she was with.

Wind howled miniature tornados into being. They wobbled in front of the hearse for a split second, before straightening and rocketing forward. Stan raised his hand, preparing a defense when the car jerked. He yelped as he was thrown head down ass up into the center of the car.

"Hold on!" Kyle bellowed at him.

The tire's screeched as Kyle made a hairpin turn. Stan fought to right himself as Kyle sped up and started zig zagging. Kyle swore again, leveling the car long enough for Stan to look up.

They were on a stretch of flat pavement. No turns.

Nowhere to run.

Shelly's car was coming at them impossibly fast. Stan climbed back into his seat. A badly formed idea fell into place, but it they could pull it off…

It was the best option they had.

Stan drew into his magic, one last time. He'd give this everything he had.

"On the count of five turn the car around and run it at them." He said.

"What!?" Shrieked Kyle.

"Do it!"

Kyle yelled something else but Stan didn't hear. He had begun to chant, envisioning what he was calling his magic to do. He focused solely on the hearse. His power surged up around him, stray colors popping in and out of existence in a halo of energy.

He had to be careful. They only had one shot. He vaguely registered Kyle counting in the background. Gritting his teeth, Stan felt the power starting to push at him, demanding to be released.

Stan held up his hands, making the shape of a triangle with his thumb and forefingers, arms stretched out in front of him.

If he screwed this up, they'd be done for.

"Five!" Kyle yanked the wheel around, and suddenly they were spinning . Kyle quickly righted the car and sent it barreling head-on towards the hearse.

'_Wait for it.'_ Stan thought. They were facing a head on collision now. '_Wait.'_ Stan hadn't realized he said it out loud until Kyle yelled at him to do something.

They were so close Stan could magic out Shelly through the hearse's blacked out windows.

"Stan!" Kyle screamed.

Stan dropped his fingers so that the triangle lay flat. "**Wedjet**!" He yelled. Magic burst from him. Lightning of all colors bled together into a brilliant gold, crackling as it covering the car. A boom sounded, that trailed off into a birds cry as a massive falcon took shape. Stan saw rather than felt their car slam into the hearse. The falcon head that protruded from the front of their car attacked, flipping Shelly's car into the air as they passed. Its beak gored the underside of the car, tearing it apart as they passed. It crashed hard, rolling after it landed.

The image faded instantly, leaving nothing but a faint scent of sand in its wake. Stan shook slightly, breathing hard. Kyle had a death grip on the steering wheel. Stan looked at him then slowly turned to see Shelly's car. It had come to a stop, gently rocking back and forth on its hood. Smoke poured from the engine.

A pang of worry went through him. Stan did his best to squish it. There was no point in worrying about his sister's life. Not when she was hellbent on ending his own.

He turned back around. Using all his magic, all of his power like that was hard on the body. His muscles were starting to spasm, he did his best to relax against the seat . Kyle was still driving at breakneck speeds. He didn't slow down until they were miles away from the wreckage.

"I'm not going to ask." Kyle said, breaking the silence. He swallowed audibly. "I am not going to ask how you did that. I am not going to ask how you did any of that." He shook his head, shock making him even paler than he had been before. "In fact I bet you didn't do any of that. You must have slipped something into my drink this morning. I am experiencing auditory and visual hallucinations, powered by your suggestions. You said something about birds and I didn't hear it, but I saw it."

Stan let out a tired smile as Kyle rambled. He waited until a pause to speak. "Must be one hell of a pill I slipped you to destroy our back window, dude." He said. No argumentative tone, no nothing. Just a simple fact.

Kyle glanced back. "That's part of the suggestions. You said it and now I'm seeing it."

"If you say so." Stan said. Wincing, he reached down and picked up a shard of glass.

And then he poked Kyle with it.

"Ow! What the hell was that?!" Kyle yelled, slapping Stan's hand away.

"You're hallucinations." Stan said, placing the shard were Kyle could see it. Kyle's eyes widened dramatically.

His gaze flickered between it and the road for a long time, remaining silent. Stan rested his head against the window. Silence was fine with him. He didn't have the energy to argue, or try calm Kyle down.

He didn't have the energy to do anything but sit and stare out the window.

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Reviews are the absolute love of my life! : D


	5. Chapter 5

I forgot to explain the ending of the previous chapter, do forgive me. The Wedjat is another name for the Eye of Horus, which is typically connected to the Egyptian God Horus, whose usually shown as a falcon. The triangle was for the Eye of Providence (it's the symbol on the American dollar bill, eye in a center of a triangle) which can be connected with/seen as the Eye of Horus.

Disclaimer: I don't own shit.

Reviews keep me going, and I love aaaalll kinds of 'em! : D

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"Where are we going?" Kyle finally asked. It had been two hours of mindless driving. Just going and going until the trees grew thin and the hills dropped into flat land.

Stan had his head resting against the window. He didn't move it. "I don't know."

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "You don't know? It was your idea to run!"

"If I may remind you, all my relatives are the people we're running from, and they already found us once." Stan tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He was only mildly successful. "I don't exactly have an estranged aunt we can dump ourselves on."

"Like I have any family that's close enough for us to go to!"

Stan refused to argue back. He was tired of arguing. He was tired of panicking. He just wanted to go home.

But he couldn't.

He didn't have one. Not after today. Just a long car ride with a bitchy redhead and a slim possibility of a future, let alone a future with a positive outcome.

_Fuck. Me._

"Why didn't you just go home?" Kyle asked, quieter. It was nice to see it wasn't just Stan that was making an effort to avoid fighting. "Earlier, when I was trying to get to the hospital, why did you come with me?"

Stan didn't answer for a while. Not because he didn't want to. Because he was thinking of how he could, without giving it all away.

'_Anything you tell a stranger can be used against us…'_ His mother's warning rang in his head. Those warnings had always been ironic, because if he told her what he was she'd use it against him. Everyone would. He was his own best kept secret. He had to be, his survival depended on it. But what did it matter now? He'd already told Kyle he was a witch. Why hide the rest? Keeping secrets wouldn't save him now. Not that Kyle would understand.

"I've been lying to my family my whole life." He started, slowly. "Making shit up to cover my ass. I guess you could say I just…I can't do it anymore."

"Lying? Or being a pawn to an overbearing cult?"

Stan didn't bother to correct Kyle. Cult was close enough to the truth. "Both."

Kyle chewed on his lip. "I can't imagine what else they would expect out of you, if murder was such a casual thing to them."

Stan burst out laughing. Not the nice kind of laughter. The hysterical kind one fell into when it was either laugh or cry. "Murder wasn't just casual dude," He gasped, finding it funny, so hilariously ironic, that of all the things to hone in on Kyle had chosen that. "It was an everyday event."

"Then why couldn't you stand it? Why did it bother you so much if you're around it so often?"

"Because I'm different."

Kyle rolled his eyes. Stan ignored it, too lost in his own head to care.

_Because I couldn't make the sacrifices they did. Because I couldn't take the paths they traveled on_.' Stan thought. _'I am weaker because of my lies. And I could never tell them, because they kill things that are weak.'_

"That doesn't explain much." Kyle griped.

Stan took a deep breath. Why not let it all out? Kyle wouldn't believe him anyway. "When I was a kid, I couldn't kill anything. Ants, bugs, rabbits. Anything. I couldn't make my first sacrifice. So my power never changed. That's how they gain power." He looked at Kyle. "They sacrifice. They go through rituals. They respect nothing. They steal magic from the living. They raise the dead. They torture for fun." He took another breath. This was the hard part. This was the part he'd kept locked up. "I faked it and scraped by, but I'm not as strong as them. I'm what they refer to as a White Witch, Kyle. My coven is filled with Black Witches. If they ever found out, that I was too much of a pussy to follow in their footsteps, they'd eat me alive. Literally."

It was an intense moment. Stan focused on his hands. He couldn't bring himself to look anywhere else. He was terrified. Nervous now that his secret had been let out; but in a strange way he felt relieved. He'd finally told someone. He had finally admitted to his weakness.

He could feel Kyle's eyes on him. He forced himself to breathe. Kyle wasn't a coven member. Kyle wouldn't judge him for this. He wouldn't attack him. He was alright.

Stan kept repeating it, hoping if he said it to himself enough he'd start to believe it.

"So," Kyle started. "What you're saying is that you guys are racist?"

Stan's head flew up. "What!?" He croaked.

Kyle looked at him calmly. "White witches are the good guys, black witches are the bad guys? Come on really? I mean I know this is a small town-"

"Are you-no!" Stan stared at him in disbelief. "No it's not like that you twit! Like light and dark or ying and yang! You know actual white and black!"

Kyle snorted. "Actual white and black? Is that how it is?" He thrust his arm in Stan's face. "Look at that! Tell me I'm not white!"

"No, yes-no!" Of the million scenarios Stan had run over in his head, of what various responses could be to his admittance, he had never foreseen a back-peddling madly over a race issue. "You are not actually white! Like, white white!" He struggled for a moment, trying to find something that would help him. It took a moment of floundering, but he found it. "Like the_ Pokémon _games!" He yelled victoriously. "You know you get Zekrom in _White_ but you get Reshiram in _Black_! The evil one is your rivals! Except neither are really evil in the game, not like white witches and black witches but you get the point!"

"Okay, I watched _Pokémon_ when I was a kid, there wasn't any Zekrom or Resh-whatever." Kyle said.

Yup. Stan definitely felt the headache coming on. _'This is what you get for telling an outsider. Complete lack of understanding._' "They made new ones with the new games."

"Well THAT'S bullshit." Kyle growled.

"Don't be one of those assholes who hates on the other generations." Stan said-and then he shook himself. "But seriously, I'm not being racist, that's what people call us, can we move on?"

"Fine." Kyle said. "So you're a good guy and your family's full of murderous weirdos."

'_Finally' _ Stan thought. "Yes."

"And you're tired of the murderous weirdo life, so this is your way out."

"Yes." Stan repeated.

"And somehow you all refer to yourself as witches instead of witches and wizards. _Harry Potter_ must have been a difficult book for you guys."

Well there went any hope this argument was going to stay serious. "Dude, don't even start."

Kyle raised an eyebrow. It was impressive, he was entirely focused on the road and Stan could still feel that stare boring into him. "I'm just saying, it's very…unique."

"Of all the shit you could have brought up." Stan grumbled. Louder he added; "Look Witch is a title, a type and a species. It refers to a very specific kind of magic and it's not gender exclusive. A Witch is someone who gets their magic from nature. The energy in the world around them. A subspecies of Witch would be White and Black. There are several subspecies, such as Elemental Witches, and so on so forth. Bottom line, you get your energy, your power, by the things around you. Plants, certain stones, returning things to the earth, and in the case of my lovely family chopping cute animals into bloody chunks and sacrificing them to various dark powers.

A Wizard is something completely different. They look at scrolls, they chart stars and planets, and yes they wave big sticks around and call them their wands and staffs. Frankly I have no idea where their power comes from but it's not the same place ours does. All I know is that their deities are completely different from ours and they all have horrific fashion sense." They really did, Stan had once run into a group of Wizards, hunting for a fallen star. They were easy to spot, because the whole lot looked like the fell into costume shop and came out with anything that had stars on it. One girl even sported glittering star shaped glasses.

That wasn't even going into the tacky fake jewels that covered everything, including their cars.

Kyle let out a noise that suggested he was chewing that over." So," He said, eyes squinted in thought, "they're the geeks of the magic world while you guys are the hippies? Except for your family who are…cannibalistic hippies?"

For the fifth time that day, Stan wished he had enough power to conjure up aspirin. "God what is it with you and these lame comparisons!?" He said. "No! We are nothing like high school stereotypes, or _Harry Potter, _or whatever the fuck that freak in Las Vegas calls himself. We are entirely different."

"Hey I'm just doing what any good scientist does and relating this to my own worldview so I can understand it better." Kyle grumbled. "No need to get snippy."

"I am not getting snippy!" Stan snipped.

"Okay then." Kyle said.

The car ride was silent for a few minutes.

"We still have no place to go." Kyle said. Stan groaned. He massaged his head with his hands, thinking that it might have been a better idea to let Shelly kill him.

"We're going to run out of gas." Kyle continued.

'_Should've let her kill Kyle to._' Stan thought, glaring at him. He was ten seconds from opening his mouth and saying that aloud (or repeatedly bashing his head against the dashboard) when a ringtone started to blare.

Stan slowly looked down, at the black device sitting in the cup-holders.

Kyle blindly grabbed for the phone. He glanced at it then chucked it in Stan's lap. "Can you get that?"

This was it, Stan decided. He had died. Shelly had actually killed both of them and he was in hell. "You brought your cell phone with you!?" He yelled. Without bothering to look at it he rejected the call. "They can use that to track us! Fuck that could have been THEM calling us! Dammit Kyle!"

"You said they were Witches not hackers!" Kyle said. "Call him back that could have been important!"

"You can be both!" Stan felt a fit of hysteria coming on, riding on the wave of blackout rage. "You always ditch phones when you're on the run that's the smart thing to do! It's common sense! Even the murderers on CSI know that! And half the time they're children!"

"Well if I WATCHED CSI I would know that, but because I have a life it didn't occur to me!"

"Girls, girls you're both pretty." The voice was muffled a bit and clearly coming from the phone. Stan jerked in surprise, he knew he had pressed the reject button. "Let's focus here for a minute, 'ight?"

'_Wait a minute…' _Stan thought widly, trying to catch his breath. _'I know that voice." _

"Besides," The voice continued. "We all know I'm prettiest princess in the land."

"Kenny?" He asked. How the hell had Kenny gotten Kyle's phone number?!

"The one and only!" As per usual, Kenny was far to chipper. "But enough about me. I heard you guys were up shit creek without a paddle and I thought I'd be kind enough to lend you one. Let's meet at," He dragged the word out for a minute, paper crinkling in the background. "Viewcrest. There is an IHOP there and holy shit am I craving pancakes."

"You know Stan?" Kyle asked, completely ignoring everything else.

Laughter crackled through the speakers. "Didn't I tell you Kyle? I know everybody."

Stan shook his head. He had always though Kenny had been joking about that (and judging by confused and slightly sour expression on Kyle's face so had he) but then it _was_ Kenny. The world's greatest mystery. "IHOP's fine Kenny, we're only a few miles out from there. I think. I would know if Stan bothered to look at a map."

"Oh don't worry, you are." He said. "Try not to kill each other before I make it there?"

"No promises." Stan deadpanned. Kyle flipped him off.

Staticy laughter again, and then the phone went dead, Kenny's voice cutting out just as fast as it had come in.

"I should be surprised." Kyle said. "I should be completely freaking out right now." He sounded tired. Stan could relate.

"Why? Because we both somehow know Kenny?"

Kyle shrugged. "Because we both know Kenny. Because last I heard Kenny was in Florida, because he somehow knows we're together and in trouble. All of it. I should be freaking the fuck out about all of it." He sighed. "The only thing I can think about now is pancakes." It was another peace offering, Stan thought. Or at least that's how he interrupted the abrupt change in conversation. He'd take it.

Stan smiled. It was small, but a smile none the less. "Part of it's probably because it's Kenny. I don't know about you, but I feel like if there's one person in my life who always knows what's going on, it's him." There was an awkward pause. Stan coughed, and then deliberately broke it. "He used to call me at two in the morning, asking to come pick him up from bars because he somehow knew I was up anyway. He never called when I wasn't up, it was only when I was." Stan shook his head at the memories.

Kyle laughed nervously. "He uh, he used to do the exact same thing to me back when I was in high school. Never called once called me when I was asleep. He also used to crash at my place and make me coffee in the morning to make up for it."

Stan leaned back against his seat. "You to huh? He always made me these crazy concoctions that somehow always tasted amazing."

Kyle nodded, starting to relax. It didn't take long for Stan to relax as well and soon the two of them were trading Kenny stories and comparing how the blonde was always pulling off the most idiotic of ideas. It was the first time either of them had let their guard down since they left Kyle's apartment. Both of them needed it, both of them knew it, and they both did their best to keep talking until they reached the IHOP.

As they walked in, laughing and talking like friends, Stan couldn't help but reflect on the day. Kyle had to be the only person he could ever have intense arguments with, intense emotions with and remain civil to. Laugh and joke with. And wasn't it sad that of all the people in his life he'd met, it was the guy he'd tried to murder that he felt that way about? He wanted to say that it_ was_ the murder that made him feel so close, wanted to pretend the intensity of his emotions was because of the situation he'd gotten them in, but was it really?

No. Stan didn't know why he had such intense emotions, intense reactions with Kyle, but it wasn't because of the situation. But if not all that, then what was it? What was causing it?

A loud chime interrupted his thoughts. His pocket vibrated. Stan's face flushed with red as he grabbed his phone. No way. He hadn't brought his phone with him. He had left it at home, he remembered leaving it at home! He glanced up panicked, to find Kyle was talking to the waiter about to seat them instead of paying attention. Breathing a sigh of relief (he could just imagine the fit Kyle would throw if he knew Stan had his phone on him and still bitched Kyle out for having his.) quickly silenced the phone and checked the incoming message.

**That would be because you have a huge fucking crush dude. **

Stan was not at all surprised to see it was from Kenny. The words however, were surprising. **What?** He quickly typed back. The waiter motioned for him and Kyle to follow. Stan didn't have a lot of time.

Thankfully, Kenny's reply was efficient.

**You're feelings. You're crushing on Kyle. Crushing like a tween at a Bieber concert that got front row seats and managed to touch the dick's hand.**

Stan felt his mouth pop open. _What the hell Kenny!?_

Another text came in almost immediately.

**You know, you have romantic feelings? You want kissy kisses? Cuddles and shit? Picnics in the moonlight? Dude, you totally dig him. No, really, think about it! I can wait on being told I'm right ; ) **

"He's lost his mind." Stan said, eyes wide. "He's completely fucking lost his mind." Kenny had to be fucking with him. He always said shit like this. Stan shook his head frantically, realizing he'd stopped following the waiter and Kyle was already seated. He ran to catch up, shoving his phone in his pocket as he went.

"Sorry," He said to Kyle's questioning look as he sat down. "I just…had a moment."

For a second he didn't think it would work, but Kyle just shrugged and went back to reading the menu. Stan sighed in relief, picking up his own menu to hide behind.

He tried to focus on the food and not on the landslide of mental anguish Kenny had just unleashed on him. Did he want a turkey sandwich or a burger? Fries or onion rings? Was he actually crushing on Kyle was Kenny just full of shit?

It wasn't like he had ever been wrong. Kenny had an awful knack for playing matchmaker, and the unfortunate ability to always be right. But he wasn't right in this case. Stan had never looked at dudes before-alright well, there was the time with Curly, but that didn't count he'd been drinking. Of course he hadn't been drinking when he'd made out with Chase…Or Sam…

And Kenny would know that because half the time he had been there.

Dammit! That didn't count for anything! He had been experimenting, he was an experimental teenager lost in anguish and lashing out at his family by dressing up in nice clothes, volunteering at local community centers and making out with guys. Never mind that he was twenty-one and had long since stopped being a teenager. Or that Kyle had a very appealing form made especially apparent now that he was staring right at it. And eyes. Kyle had bedroom eyes. Same as Kenny, though Kyle clearly was unaware of his superpower as he had yet to use it for evil like Kenny constantly did.

'_Oh no. No, no, no. Kenny is not getting into my head.'_ Stan thought frantically. _'Focus on your order. Focus on your order. Don't look at anything that reminds you of Kyle, like carrots or pumpkin pie.'_

"Hi." A waiter who looked none too pleased to be there, appeared. "I'll be your server for tonight. You guys know what you want to order yet or do you need more time?"

"Pumpkin pie." Stan said immediately, then groaned. "Fuck you Kenny." He added under his breath, ignoring the stares he got from both Kyle and the waiter. Thankfully Kyle interrupted his moment of failure by ordering, leaving Stan to scratch at the table and envision creative ways to get revenge.

And he would get revenge.

Because it was all Kenny's fault.

* * *

I should mention I'm running this un-beta'd, so please do feel free to point out mistakes as I make them.


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